


Markiplier: An Act Of God

by KingOfHearts709



Category: markiplier - Fandom
Genre: AU, Based on a Dream, Cabins, God - Freeform, Markiplier - Freeform, Scary, Sci-Fi, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 04:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4207947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingOfHearts709/pseuds/KingOfHearts709
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's simply an act of God.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Markiplier: An Act Of God

**Author's Note:**

> I had this dream where Markiplier was this guy who wrote stuff all God-like, and I wanted to write it into a story, so here you are.  
> Technically, you can imagine this with any person, but it was Mark in my dream, so... xD xoxo

He twirled a fountain pen in his fingers in the small cabin where he resided. He watched from behind closed eyelids the two sisters walk, the older one’s boyfriend following close behind. He sat up, opening his eyes. He twirled the pen again.  
“It’s going to be fine, okay?” the older sister, Meghan, told Sarah, the younger sister. The younger sister, who had the same brown hair except much longer and with more volume, nodded slowly. Meghan’s boyfriend, James, chuckled.  
“There’s nothing here to get up, Sarah,” he said, laughing. “You know, except for the scary monsters that’ll eat our faces.” Meghan shot James a mean look as she tried her best to make sure Sarah was okay. It was her that begged Meghan to go anyways, yet the thought of visiting an abandoned place scared her.  
“Let’s go,” Meghan said, stepping towards the unopened door. As her fingers graced the handle, the door opened inwards on contact. Almost as if someone was waiting for them.  
“Ooh, spooky,” James joked. “Don’t let the ghosts get you, Sarah!” Meghan hit her boyfriend.  
“Quit it, James,” she said, then looked at Sarah. “There’s nothing here. I promise you. Alright?” Sarah nodded quietly. Maybe she shouldn’t have begged her sister so much to tag along. Meghan walked inside, followed my James, and finally her sister.  
The place wasn’t empty. It was dark, but there seemed to be a light coming from somewhere. Almost like a yellow glow, but there were no openings from anywhere but the door that led to a midnight sky. There was a red couch covered with a black, beaten tarp next to a brown table with a lamp that probably didn’t work. There were boxes everywhere, some opened and some sealed, but most had miscellaneous things in them. The walls were wood, with little paintings on them and pictures of the ocean, but they were too much covered in dust to see clearly. There wasn’t much room to walk around, and the roof was just barely high enough to stand upright.  
“Wow,” James said, kicking at an open box. “Talk about a hoarder. He reached into the box and pulled out what looked like an old green shirt. He looked at Meghan, “Can I keep this?” Meghan snatched the shirt out of his hands.  
“No!” she hissed quietly, putting the shirt back in the box where it came from. “Stop touching everything and quit fooling around.” She looked at Sarah for a moment, who seemed intrigued by the pictures on the wall.  
“Meghan,” she said, pointing to a picture on the wall. “What’s that?” Meghan peered at what Sarah was looking at. She reached up a hand to try to wipe away at the debris.  
“That’s the ocean, Sarah,” she decided, sighing.  
The fountain pen in his hand twirled and twirled again. He closed his eyes.  
They were here. He leaned forward, opening his eyes and slowly pressing his pen down onto the wooden table in front of him  
“What was that?” Meghan asked, perking up at the sound of a creak.  
“It’s an old cabin, Megs,” James said. “It’s probably just creaking around like old cabins do.” Meghan stiffened at the sound of another creak, this one longer and much louder.  
“Is the cabin going to fall?” Sarah asked, a bit frightened of the situation. Meghan shook her head, assuring her sister that all was fine.  
“No, no,” she said. “Everything’s fine, this cabin is in shape enough to stay standing. A little weather won’t hurt it.” Sarah nodded, but jumped at the sound of a third creak. James turned round and round, then stopped when he faced a wall.  
“Megs,” he said, pointing to the wall. “Look at this.” Meghan turned around, looking at the wall James was facing.  
‘I’.  
Just a black letter ‘I’.  
“‘I’?” James said. “I what? I am a stupid idiot?” He laughed at his own joke.  
He sighed and pressed the fountain pen on the table again.  
“Oh, my God,” Meghan said. She watched as letters, one after another, were drawn onto the wall in almost perfect calligraphy. Sarah was almost frozen in fear, and James had stopped making fun of the cabin. Meghan was simply watching.  
Am.  
“‘I am’...,” she said.  
He took the fountain pen off of the table and closed his eyes. He could see all three of them, looking at the words on the wall, frozen, scared, questioning reality. He opened his eyes again.  
More words appeared on the wall, this time, it seemed, much quicker than the last two. They flowed out like ink from a fountain pen.  
“‘I am God’...,” Meghan read, “‘Thank you for visiting’.” Meghan shook her head. “Okay, no. James, Sarah, we’re leaving now.” Sarah nodded agreeing.  
“Come on!” James protested, throwing his hands into the air. “It’s just some kid messing with us.” Meghan shook her head, ushering Sarah out of the cabin. “Megs!”  
“James, get out of there!” Meghan yelled at him. He shook his head, sighing and walking towards the door. The door slammed shut.  
“Meghan?” he said, hitting the door. “Meghan open the door!” He couldn’t hear her screams from outside, nor could he hear the crying of her sister. He hit the door again, stopping when all it did was hurt his hand.  
He twirled the fountain pen one last time, opening his eyes and leaning to press his fountain pen on the table one last time.  
“Goodbye, James,” he said, writing the words in perfect calligraphy. He took a finger and pressed it against the words. The screams he heard from upstairs were like music to him, but to his distaste they died out rather quickly. He eyed the rest of the table, countless words and sentences he had written for people who refused to leave the cabin.  
He looked back at the wall to his left.  
Goodbye, God.  
And he screamed, clutching at the table that held the words that killed his victims, the words that had saved others from dying. He struggled to breathe, struggled to see, struggled to get out a plea for his omnipotence to stay intact.  
He went limp. The table fell onto its side, the fountain pen, falling out of his hands. It hit the wooden floor with a soft thud, rolling over to be by the table.  
It was an act of God, they will say.  
That’s what they will say...


End file.
